Through the Looking Glass
by Jetainia
Summary: Harry had been held to duty his entire life. The Dursley's had controlled him, Dumbledore had guided him to death, and now Wizarding Britain was demanding his services every day. His friends have something to say about that.


**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A; Hogwarts  
Individual Challenges: Short Jog; Yellow Ribbon (Y); Yellow Ribbon Redux; Gryffindor MC (x3); Neurodivergent; Quiet Time; Cuppa; Rian-Russo Inversion; Real Family; Flags & Ribbons; Trio of Gold; Letter of the Day; Old Shoes (Y); Times to Come; Time Gaps; Themes & Things A; Themes & Things B; Themes & Things C; Feeling So Logical [Miracle/Miraculous]; Black Ribbon; Black Ribbon Redux  
Prompt: Mythology Task 3 - Write about someone being released from captivity.  
Word count: 1,390

* * *

Sirius had once thought that the Black home was the worst place in the world. He had reassessed that opinion when he had been sent to Azkaban and stayed there for twelve years. Surely Azkaban was truly the worst place. He changed his mind again when he found himself trapped in a house of memories with no reprieve.

He could send some letters to Harry and sometimes go out in the guise of Padfoot, but he wasn't truly free. He could feel the same shackles that had held him as a child tighten around him the longer he stayed at his childhood home. He had never wanted to return here, but Dumbledore needed a place for the Order to meet, and Sirius himself wanted to be close to Harry in case the boy needed help.

The cave outside Hogsmeade would be preferable to Grimmauld Place.

Sirius almost lost hold of the few strands to his sanity when he rushed out of the haunted house to the Ministry of Magic. He was free for a few hours and Harry needed him. Finally, after twelve years in prison, he could fulfil the duties of godfather James and Lily had bestowed on him when Harry was born.

Even as he fell through the Veil of Death, he had a smile on his face. He was free. He had helped Harry. He didn't know if there was anything waiting for him on the other side of the Veil but it had to be better than Azkaban and Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Harry shuddered as he passed the statue in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He still remembered when that had been a weapon in the duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore years ago. He had to walk past it every day he came into work—a job he had gone into because he knew nothing else and it was expected of him. He had gone with the flow; the wizarding world had always controlled his life in some way, so why not his career as well?

He smiled tightly at the other people in the elevator and pressed the button for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, steadily avoiding looking at the button that led to a place of nightmares—the Department of Mysteries was one place in the Ministry he would avoid at all costs. Even as the lift moved down there was an expectant silence pervading it. Harry repressed a sigh. There would be no heroic acts or speeches from him while he waited for the elevator to drop him off at his requested floor no matter how much others seemed to expect it.

He gazed at the floor steadily as he walked out of the elevator and through the Auror offices. He had no desire to see the worshipping faces that still looked at him like he was their saviour. He had hoped that after the war, he'd be able to be just Harry, but the wizarding world had clutched onto him tight and refused to let him go.

He shut the door of his office tightly and leant against it with a sigh. He hated the Ministry. It held so many bad memories; he had been tried for defending himself against dementors here, Sirius had died here, Voldemort had possessed him in the atrium he walked through almost every day. This was where Muggle-borns were rounded up like cattle and forced to justify their right to Magic and a wand.

He sighed again as his gaze fell on his desk. He tried to do good from there, but it was tiring. He just wanted to be done with it all, and that was one thing he was not allowed to do. They'd happily let him host a Quidditch match in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, but retire? There was no chance of that.

* * *

It was with utter exhaustion that Harry flopped down on the couch in Grimmauld Place after returning home from a long day at the Ministry. Sirius had hated the house, but Harry loved it—it was the one place he and Sirius could freely be with each other without worrying about Sirius being seen. Kreacher had converted it from a dingy, dusty building of ghosts to a building more fitting of the Black family and Harry's own tastes.

Kreacher silently handed him a cup of tea as Harry slouched on the soft cushions and stared at the wall in front of him blankly. It was routine by now. Fridays were the worst; a whole week of constant memories and worship without time to recover wiped him out completely and he could barely function until halfway through Saturday.

Kreacher had handed him two more cups of tea before the fire flared green and Ron and Hermione stepped through. He watched them uncomprehendingly. They usually stopped by on Sunday when he could actually function properly. They knew he was terrible company on Fridays, so why were they here?

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said.

"Hi," Harry croaked in return—he must have been silently staring at the wall for longer than he thought.

Ron sat down across from him—knowing better than to get too close to Harry when he was overly tired—and gave him a tired grin. "How you doing, mate?"

Harry shrugged and sipped his tea. "As well as I can."

"About that—" Hermione started but stopped when Kreacher thrust a cup into her hands and glared at her until she took a sip.

The elf did the same for Ron and Harry grinned at his actions. He may have hated Kreacher at the beginning, but now the elf was one of favourite beings in the world. He was sure even Sirius would have warmed up to the old elf if he met this version of Kreacher.

"We're worried about you, Harry," Ron said after taking a gulp of tea.

Harry knew this. They made no effort to hide their disgust at the wizarding world continuing to control his actions, but so far none of them had found no safe way to give Harry his longed-for freedom. He nodded in acknowledgement and started drawing patterns on his cup.

"I think we finally have something," Hermione said quietly. "A way for you to still be in the wizarding world but without all the pressure and fame. You'd be free."

He stared at her in stunned hope. He knew they wouldn't tell him about this unless they were sure it would work—the last time they had done that he had fallen into a rabbit hole of depression deeper than normal for almost a month when he was still trapped by history and demands. Hermione placed her cup down on the coffee table between the couches and pulled out a compact from a pocket.

"If you look in the mirror and use the powder, you'll slip from everyone's minds and they won't think of Harry Potter even if you're standing right in front of them. It's not invisibility as such, but it's disconnecting the link they have that associates you with their _hero_." She practically spat out the last word, her hatred of the claim so many wix held over his head clear. "You can reverse the effect any time by doing the same actions but it will stay until you do."

Harry's hand shook ever so slightly as he reached out to take the compact from Hermione. "Will this affect you two?" He didn't want to give up his friends, not even for his own freedom.

Ron shook his head. "We don't think of you as _Harry Potter_, mate. You're just Harry to us."

"You're sure?"

"We're sure," Hermione said firmly, and then smiled gratefully at Kreacher as he offered her a plate of biscuits.

His friends' faces were set with determination and fierce loyalty—the same loyalty he felt towards them. When he looked to Kreacher, he saw the same thing there. They all wanted him to have his own life that he was free to live as he liked.

"Well then, through the looking glass I go."

Hermione huffed a small laugh, Ron looked confused, and Kreacher nodded in approval as Harry flipped open the compact and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked at his friends once more to make sure they had no objections and then reached for the sponge.


End file.
